


Hold Onto Me, Hold Onto Me.

by marikishtarisgay (orphan_account)



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brother-Sister Relationships, Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Incest, just brother/sister love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-07-26 09:04:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7568272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/marikishtarisgay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here's a secret: Marik loved cuddling. He'd never admit it, but it's true. He didn't even care who he was cuddling. It felt warm and safe. Warmth and safety were two luxuries that couldn't be found in the Ishtar household.</p><p>[DISCONTINUED]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And Late At Night, Yeah She'll Comfort Me.

**Author's Note:**

> hello I am trash reborn here to try and make up for all my past awful thiefshipping fics lost on fanfiction.net. there's a lot of focus on the brother/sister relationship in this piece. probably because I have an older brother and i understand the brother/sister dynamic
> 
> Get ready y'all this is an emotional one. yes, the title is based on hold onto me by mayday parade, because not only am I ygo(tas) trash, I am also pop punk garbage. Most chapter titles will probably also be pop punk lyrics.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ames parentem, si aequus est: sí aliter, feras._ \- Love your father, if he is just; if he is otherwise, bear with him. (Syrus- Sententiae, 22)

A bottle flew past Ishizu's head, brushing past some of her long hair, causing her to yipe in surprise. It smashed against the wall behind her.

"Father, please..." She said calmly. The arm she was using to shield her younger brother, Marik, betrayed her calm demeanor. Marik wanted to lurch over her arm and tackle his father, but he knew Ishizu would stop him before he got that far.

"You ungrateful little shit!" Their father slurred. "I give you a home," he took a staggering step toward them. Ishizu took a step back, pressing Marik back with her arm. "I feed you," another step, "and you try to _leave_?"

"Fuck. You." Marik steps towards his father, hindered by Ishizu's arm.

"Marik!" Ishizu chastised him. Marik just glared at her. He could see in her eyes that she agreed on some level with Marik's side of this argument, but her loyalty shone through that. "Father, come relax, just sit down and..."

"I'm not done with him!" Their father yelled. He took several drunken steps towards his children until he had them cornered. Marik tried to hide it, but it was obvious he was terrified. He hated this; being scared of his drunkard father. It was pathetic. "Move, Ishizu." Not a suggestion; a command. Ishizu hesitated, wanting to listen to a command, but also wishing to keep her brother safe. " _Now._ " He growled. This time, Ishizi had to listen. Marik didn't hold it against her, when Father said to do something, it was always easier for everyone to listen.

His father lurched toward him and wrapped his fingers around Marik's neck. In desperation, Marik put his own hands over his father's and tried to pry his airways free again. The bruising grip was too tight, and Marik was starting to see splotches of color that weren't really there.

Eventually, his father released him. He was a shitty father and a drunk, but he never proved himself to be a murderer. Marik slunk to the floor, gasping for breath. He landed on some of the shattered bottle, causing a few small cuts on his legs, but he barely felt them. His father spat on him. "Get your pathetic, ungrateful ass off my floor." His father turned away and stalked off to his own room before Marik could even attempt to get up.

Ishizu rushed to him, scooped him up and cradled him. "I'm so sorry, Marik." She said through tears. Marik wanted to say something. He wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault. But his throat still felt constricted, and the only sound he could get out was a wheeze.

Instead of focusing on the words- or lack thereof- Marik focused on how safe he felt being wrapped in Ishizu's arms. She was always there for him in the end. She was safety.

That night, Ishizu pushed her mattress next to Marik's and held him all night, making sure he got some sleep.

School was Marik's only other reprieve from his father's rage. He pulled his shirt collar up so no one could see the bruises around his neck and collarbone.

"Hey, Marik." One of his close friends, Ryou, called out as he caught up with Marik in the hallway.

"Hey." Marik said. His voice was still hoarse- less from the choking incident and more from crying all night.

"You okay? You don't look too good." Ryou observed. Of course. Ryou was like the 'mom friend' to everyone. He noticed when something was wrong.

"Yeah, I think I have a cold." Marik assured him. It was one of his classic excuses.

"Oh." Ryou didn't seem convinced, but he couldn't exactly fight Marik on it.

Marik stopped at his own locker and parted ways with Ryou. He unlocked the locker and glanced over everything he had within it. Anything of value to him was kept here, after the incident where his father had taken all the money Marik had been saving and spent it on booze. Also 'lost' in that incident was one of his mother's necklaces, which Ishizu held close. Since then, Marik officially moved into his locker.

He double checked the money stash hidden in a pencil case in the back of his locker. He sighed. After his last stunt, he was left with only about two hundred dollars. Running away was costly.

Although most highschool students hated classes, Marik relished any moment he wasn't trapped in his house. Even better, he had friends here.

At lunch, he settled in at his usual table. Ryou and his twin brother, Bakura, were already sitting there. Marik set down his lunch tray, which was a blessing everyday. He got free lunches, although he'd never admit it, and it was the only truly filling meal he ever got.

"Hey, you still feeling alright?" Ryou, ever the concerned mom friend, asked Marik for at least the fourth time that day.

"Yeah, I'm fine-"

"What's wrong?" Bakura stared him down.

"Nothing, just a cold." Marik lied. Ryou might've been fooled by Marik's façade, but Bakura saw right through him.

"You sure?" Bakura narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah," Marik said, nervously tugging his shirt collar up.

"You look like a douche with your collar up like that." Bakura commented.

"And you would know all about looking like a douche, huh?" Marik threw back.

"Here, let me fix that." Bakura reached out towards the collar of Marik's shirt.

Marik flinched, almost smacking Bakura's hand away. "S-sorry." He mumbled, returning his focus to the food on his tray.

"Marik..." The tone of Bakura's voice had done a complete one-eighty. Instead of its usual, eternally sarcastic sound, he sounded concerned.

"I'm fine." Marik snapped. He shot up out of his seat at the lunch table and took his tray- still containing food- to throw it away and returned it to the pile.

This was particularly unusual for Marik. He always ate every last crumb of his lunch, but the interaction with Bakura left him without any appetite.

"He always finishes his lunch..." Marik could hear Ryou whisper in a concerned voice to his brother.

"Something's up..." Bakura responded in a deep, growl-like whisper. Marik interrupted any further conversation about him by sitting back down at the lunch table.

A bout of silence fell upon the trio. That was, until a bouncy, short brunette bobbed over to their table, carrying her tray.

"Hey guys!" Téa Gardner said enthusiastically.

"Hey, Téa." Ryou politely responded. Bakura simply nodded his head in acknowledgment of her. Marik waved.

"Yugi's having a party over the weekend, you guys are invited." Téa bubbled. "If you want to come, I mean."

Bakura snorted, "Cliché." Téa didn't respond, instead she turned to Ryou and Marik.

Marik knew Ryou wasn't much for parties, but Ryou was too polite for his own good. "I'll see if I can drag this one," he elbowed Bakura, "outside of the house." Téa giggled at that.

"Uh, yeah. If they're going, I'll be there." Marik said hesitantly. He knew there was no way his dad would let him go, but he had faith that Bakura would remain firm on his decision to not go.

"Alrighty, hope to see you guys there!" Téa smiled as she stood up from her chair and returned to the table she was previously sitting at.

Marik thanked the gods for the temporary reprieve from the twins grilling him. But Bakura wasn't done.

"Seriously, Marik, put your damn collar down." Bakura reached out in one swift motion and finally managed to grab and fix Marik's collar. Marik practically jumped out of his skin in panic.

"I'm gonna run to the bathroom." Marik excused himself from the table and shot up out of his seat. He quickly pulled his collar back up as he speed-walked to the bathroom.

He rushed himself into a stall and locked it quickly. He sat down on the toilet and tried to calm himself down. He kept telling himself that it was okay, no one saw the bruises, he got his collar back up in time.

He heard footsteps on the tile floor of the bathroom and prayed to every god possible that it was just some random kid who'd use the bathroom and leave. His prayers went unanswered, however, as the footsteps stopped in front of the stall Marik was in.

Glancing under the door, Marik could see the legs of whoever had followed him leaning against the wall. Maybe if he just pretended that that person wasn't there, they'd go away.

"Marik." Bakura's voice called from outside the stall. Marik sighed in resignation. He slowly opened the stall door. "Seriously, what's the matter?" Bakura grabbed Marik's arm.

"Nothing." Marik tried, and failed, to free his arm from Bakura's concerned grip.

"Bullshit." Bakura growled. This time, when he reached for Marik's collar, Marik didn't flinch or resist.

When his collar was flipped back down, exposing the bruises, Marik had the sudden urge to cover them with his hands. Before he could act on that urge, Bakura's fingers were lightly tracing the bruises.

"Who did this?" Bakura whispered, the edges of his voice tinged with anger.

"No one-"

"Bull _shit_."

"It's nothing, 'Kura, let it be." Marik sighed.

"Marik, those are handprint bruises. On your _neck_." Bakura stated the obvious, yet it surprised Marik to think about it that way. He could feel his father's fingers, like ghosts, trying to steal the life out of him.

"Yes, and?" He tried to sound indifferent, but his voice was cracking.

"Who. Did. This." The demanding tone in Bakura's voice caused Marik to crack.

He blinked away any tears forming in his eyes and spoke, "My... My father..." He whispered. His eyes were burning and his ears were ringing. In a very un-Bakura like gesture, he threw his arms around Marik and held onto him. Marik sunk into the embrace.

The rest of the day, Bakura didn't say anything about the way Marik's shirt collar looked.


	2. Oh Well, Oh Well, Guess I'll See You In Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Arstra inclinant, sed non obligant_ \- the stars incline us, they do not bind us (Latin proverb)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I was a good, consistent writer who could say when this'll get updated, but I'm _hoping_ to manage at least one chapter a week. I've been writing a lot so I figured I'd post chapter two now.

Marik made Bakura promise not tell anyone, not even his twin. Although Bakura wanted to help, Marik brushed him off after that.

Walking home always reminded Marik of the saying " _deadman walking."_ Which was a phrase used to refer to prisoners on death row walking to wherever they were to be killed.

Ishizu wasn't home yet. But his father was. His father was always home.

"Oh? Decided to actually come back to your fuckin' home this time?" His father slurred when Marik opened the door. He noted that the smashed bottle from yesterday had been cleaned. Biting his tongue, he ignored his father and slid into his and Ishizu's shared room.

Digging around in Ishizu's things, he desperately hoped to find _some_ kind of make up to cover up the bruises.

Eventually, he found a bottle of some kind of skin-colored liquid that said 'Covergirl Clean Matte Liquid Foundation.' A rather absurd name for such a simple item. The color was apparently 'warm beige.' Marik prayed his and Ishizu's skin tones were close enough for this to work.

He cautiously squeezed out some of the foundation and rubbed it between his fingers before gently placing a layer of it on his neck. He checked it in one of the little mirrors he found. It was passable. He thanked the gods for make up.

When Ishizu returned home from work, their father made some angry remark to her that Marik couldn't quite make out. He sighed, leaning down onto his mattress. She stepped in quietly- almost silently- and smiled at Marik.

"How was school?" Ishizu said, attempting to fill in every parental role possible.

"S'fine..." Marik shrugged. Ishizu sighed.

She dropped her voice to a low whisper, "I got paid today." Marik understood what she meant. If she said it even a tiny bit louder, their father would hear her and barge in and take the money, claiming it was 'rent.' Slowly and quietly, as if any sudden movement or noise would scare it away, she pulled out the small envelope of money.

Ishizu worked as a waitress, and while she got regular hourly pay, most of her income came from tips. She got paid every two weeks on Wednesdays. Where she worked, they paid everyone in cash, since no one was making enough to justify the time consuming work of writing and distributing checks.

She opened the envelope just as quietly and carefully as she had taken it out of her pocket. "Sixty-eight." She mumbled, "Good week." She carefully counted out thirty-four of the sixty-eight dollars. "Here." She handed it to him. This was the norm for them; Ishizu split her pay with Marik, and each stashed them in their own safe places. Despite Ishizu's undying loyalty to their father, she also felt a responsibility to care for her younger brother, too. This was one way she did so.

After Marik had fallen asleep, he was woken by the sound of his father screaming.

" _Sharmoota!_ " The sound of his father's shouting in Arabic sent chills down his spine. His only slipped in Arabic- his native language- when he was furious. The last time he slipped into Arabic ended in a hospital bed with a bad cover story of falling off a bike on a big hill. No one really believed them, but no one could dispute it.

"Father, please-" Ishizu pleaded, also in Arabic. A crash, and the distinct sound of crying. Marik, despite his fear, knew he had to confront his father.

When he stepped into the kitchen, where the noise had been coming from, his father had Ishizu cornered against one of the cupboards. Out of pure blind bravery, Marik lunged towards them, and grabbed his father.

" _Allahi Yekhrib beitak!_ " His father cursed. He whipped around, landing a back-handed slap on Marik's cheek. Marik accidentally bit his tongue and tasted blood.

Reeling from the hit, Marik swung his fist toward his father. His hand landed with a sickening crunch on his nose.

" _HadbaHak!_ " His father screeched, pulling his hands up to catch the blood that was now slowly streaming from his nose. With his blood-covered hands, his father grabbed his neck again. He dug is fingers into the bruises already there.

Marik tried to pry away the vice, but soon enough he was feeling weak and out of breath. His vision started to turn white.

This is it, he decided, and gave into to the urge to just pass out.

He woke up to see Ishizu's face hovering over him. He was pretty sure he was laying in his bed.

"Marik! Thank the gods, you're okay." She pressed her hand to her forehead, as if he had a fever. "You were out for a few hours..."

"Hnng..." His body ached and he couldn't seem to get any words out.

"Shh, you... uh... you took quite a beating. After you'd passed out..." Ishizu mumbled. "Just... Relax." She gently adjusted a bag of ice Marik hadn't noticed before. It was laying on the side of his torso. Glancing down at his side, he saw the entire right side of his torso was either red or blue or black or purple. A galaxy of bruises. He wondered what his father looked like. Probably a lot better off than Marik was.

Ishizu spent the entire day that day playing nurse with all of Marik's injuries. Marik spent all day playing patient and hating every second.

The next day, Ishizu insisted that Marik needed to return to school, so he did. After missing a day and what had happened before he was absent, his friends were pretty worried.

"Marik!" Ryou called out, in his concerned mom voice. Marik sighed, stopping in the hallway and turning around to see Ryou rushing up to him.

"Hey." Marik tried to say causally.

"How are you feeling?"

 _Tired, sore, shitty_... "I'm fine." He lied. Ryou looked like he wanted to fight him on that, but didn't. Probably because Ryou knew his twin would grill Marik later.

And he did. In fact, he didn't just grill him, he charred him, deep fried with a lemon wedge on the side.

"Bakura, please just-" Marik was about to ask him- for the fiftieth time- to drop it, but once again, Bakura cut him off.

"Marik, you can't pretend everything is okay-"

"It is!" Marik snapped. Okay, maybe everything wasn't _okay_ per se, but it was normal. At least to Marik.

"Marik." Bakura growled, sounding both concerned and accusatory. He grabbed Marik's arm, causing Marik to flinch and gasp in pain. No matter how much Marik prayed otherwise, Bakura did notice. He took Marik's wrist and pushed up the sleeve, revealing the galaxy that would have been beautiful had it not been composed of awful bruises and cuts. Marik watched as both of the twins' eyes went wide with shock.

Marik didn't know what to say; the usual excuses started pouring out like a faucet had been turned. "I just... Fell. Clumsy, eh?" He laughed, but it sounded nervous.

The twins stared at him; Ryou with a look of concern and pity, Bakura with a look that said 'bullshit' in that exasperated tone of his. Marik sighed, knowing there was no lying his way out of this.

He sighed, pulling his shirt sleeve back down, and tried to just ignore their stares.

"How'd you hide this all this time we've known you?" Ryou asked in a hushed whisper. Almost as if he wanted to ask it but his vocal chords were trying to stop him.

"It's... gotten worse, lately..." Marik shrugged, trying to play it off as nothing.

"And Ishizu...?"

"She gets her fair share, but..." Marik had long since broken eye contact and stared at the lunch table. "She spends a lot of time taking care of me."

Marik always thought the idea of 'deafening silence' was cliché, but at that moment there was no other way to describe the silence that fell upon the trio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me if I'm terribly off on the Arabic words, I found them on a website dedicated to collecting various languages' swear words.  
> Sharmoota-Slut  
> Allahi Yekhrib beitak- Goddamn you  
> HadbaHak- I'll kill you


	3. So Cling to What You Know, and Never Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In vino veritas_ \- there is truth in wine (Latin proverb)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is this?? me??? being consistent?? actually updating this story quite often???
> 
> this ones a lil bit shorter than the past few have been but w/e

There wasn't anything anyone could really _do_. Marik knew that, and that's why he tried for so long to keep it secret. It just led to senseless worrying.

When the school day on Friday ended, Marik felt an overwhelming sense of dread. Most kids look forward to the weekend. But for Marik, it just meant two straight days dealing with his father.

But Ryou stopped him as he was about to walk out the front door of the school.

"Hey, you're coming home with me and Bakura. Not a choice." He said. The demanding tone companied with Ryou's soft, motherly voice created the perfect mix of 'angry mom who wants you to stop being an idiot.'

Marik opened his mouth to argue, but before he could Bakura joined them, and Marik knew any argument he had was a moot point to Bakura's ears. So he walked with them in silence. Once again falling into that cliché 'deafening silence.'

Marik tried not to pay attention to the way the twins walked on either side of him, and kept glancing at him as if to make sure he was still there. Like he was a nervous animal, ready to bolt at any moment.

And, to be fair, he was.

When they arrived at the Touzuku household, the twins' doting mother flocked to the trio.

"Oh, Marik! What a nice surprise. You haven't been over in quite a while!" Marik was starting to see where Ryou got his natural motherly aura. She swept him into a hug, and though she meant well, Marik had to keep from crying out in pain as she squeezed his bruised body.

"It's good to see you, too, Mrs. Touzuku..." Marik managed through the new surge of aching in his body. It was obvious that, at the very least, the twins had kept his secret from their mother.

"We're gonna go hang out in our room." Ryou carefully redirected his mother's attention from Marik to himself.

"Alright. Be good! Dinner will be done in a few hours, you're welcome to stay, Marik!"

Was this what a normal family was like? He'd been to the Touzuku's house, but only for very little amounts of time. He'd never been inside their house for more than a few minutes, let alone been invited to _dinner_. He didn't know how to respond. He just dumbly followed his friends to their room.

He supposed he always knew normal families had dinner together every evening, but the ideal was so foreign to him, he didn't even know what family dinner entailed. Conversation? If so, small talk level, or more detailed? How much was it appropriate to eat?

Marik realized he was being silly and shook away his questions. He realized that because he was so busied thinking about family dinners, he very nearly ran right into Bakura from behind, as he'd stopped walking. They entered the twins' room, and gods be damned if it wasn't the most clear definition of their personalities.

Ryou's bed, which was on the left side of the room, was neatly made and clean. Bakura, on the other hand, seemed to have a lump of blankets living in his bed. There was practically a line in the carpet where Ryou's neatness ended, and Bakura's chaos began.

Bakura and Ryou shared a look.

"Stop that." Marik glared.

"What?"

"That... Silent communication thing. Twins are weird." Marik scoffed. Bakura laughed at the ridiculousness of the statement. Despite Marik's plea, the twins continued their infuriating silent communication. Bakura sighed, resigned.

"Fine." He said, seemingly to Ryou, though neither had said anything out loud. "Marik, Ryou insisted we ask for your... _permission_ before we told any adults."

Marik immediately sputtered, "No!"

"See? Told you he'd say no." Bakura said, addressing his twin now, as if Marik wasn't there anymore. Feeling suddenly insecure, Marik crossed his arms over his body, protecting the bruised areas.

"We can't just not do anything!"

"I know, dammit!"

"I'm still here, ya know." Marik said sharply. The arguing pair turned their attention to Marik. He sighed. "I don't... I just don't want _trouble_. It's not worth it."

"Marik." Bakura practically growled, grabbing Marik's wrist and pushing up his sleeve again, "I don't know what you're seeing here, but this is already trouble." Marik flinched away at the intensity of Bakura's words.

He was right. Marik collapsed into Bakura's grasp. "Fine." He cracked. Bakura, once again surprising Marik, wrapped his arms around him. Marik practically melted into the embrace.

Here's a secret: Marik loved cuddling. He'd never admit it, but it's true. He didn't even care who he was cuddling. It felt warm and safe. Warmth and safety were two luxuries that couldn't be found in the Ishtar household.

But at the Touzuku home, it seemed to be in abundance. Their mother inviting him to stay for dinner, the twins' concern, and Bakura's arms around him- it was safe. He wished he could somehow take a slice of this feeling and take it home with him. It was Marik ever really needed out of life. 

Marik buried his face in Bakura's mess of white spikes, which were surprisingly soft. A moment later, he could hear Ryou leaving the room to go speak to his mother.


	4. I Finally Found My Voice, and Something Else Worth Writing Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Veritatem dies aperit_ \- time discloses the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have very little understanding of how all this shit works. Most of my knowledge comes from the internet and _Call Me Tuesday_ and _Call Me Cockroach_ by Leigh Byrne. Both are very interesting reads- be warned though, they are based off a true child abuse story and it can be very disturbing at times.
> 
> this is kinda short and very rushed sorry

The next few days passed in a blur. Between the social workers, police officers, and all the damned _staring_ at school, Marik's head was spinning. Mrs. Touzuku had responded exactly as one would expect from her, immediately and without even a hint of hesitation. And with that, Marik's life had been thrown into a spiral.

When the social worker, a nice enough looking woman in her thirties, had first introduced herself, Marik wanted to slap the hand she offered to shake. It was her fault. She was the one who went snooping around Marik's house. In the end, Marik opted to just ignore the outstretched hand until she awkwardly pulled it away.

Ishizu had called him, but everything she said contradicted the next. She'd been angry at Marik for letting this happen; getting their father in trouble. But in the same breath, she had said how relieved she was that he was finally safe. Talking to her was so _confusing_. He almost wanted to just ignore her calls, but he couldn't ignore his sister. For better or worse, he needed her. Most likely at the end of this crazy ride, he'd end up in her custody. She was old enough, and probably made enough for them to scrape by. Any life was a massive step up from the one he had been living.

It took a long damned time, too. Paperwork and court dates and so many people _staring_. He wished he could rip their eyes out. He hated the way people looked at him now; like he was a circus act, or an animal in a zoo.

"Marik..." Ishizu mumbled over the phone, "I... I can't take custody of you..." And just like that, the life Marik _thought_ he was going to have got twisted up just like his old life.

"Why?" 

"The- the social worker... She informed me today that I don't meet the qualifications for a legal guardian... Something about a 'technicality' I don't know.."

There goes that damned social worker again, ruining things.

"What happens now?"

"Since you have no living relatives, save for your sister, you'll be given to a foster family." The social worker told him the next day.

 _No, no, no, no, no!_ Marik was so absorbed in his own head, he didn't realize he was speaking aloud.

"Please, calm down." The social worker tried to pat his shoulder. The office where they were sitting suddenly felt cold. Marik slapped her hand away. She sighed.

After relaying this news to the Touzukus, who had been housing him over this long period of time, there was a bit of an uproar.

"But- you could be sent _anywhere!_ " Bakura was practically yelling, causing Marik to flinch instinctively, "They can't do that!... Can they?" Marik shrugged defeatedly.

"I don't have anywhere to go, 'Kura..." Marik mumbled. Bakura would've scoffed at the nickname if it weren't for the nature of the conversation. Instead he just stood in stunned silence with Marik.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marik watched as that gods damned social worker spoke to Mr. and Mrs.Touzuku. The social worker held her hands neatly in front of her, while Mrs. Touzuku was twisting and writhing hers nervously. Probably explaining to them why Ishizu couldn't take him, and where Marik was going.

" _Yaatak darba fi 'albak_..." Marik muttered angrily in Arabic. Bakura, despite not understanding Arabic, understood Marik was saying _something_ insulting. He laughed quietly at Marik's remark. The social worker and Mr. and Mrs. Touzuku continued their exchange, having not heard Marik. Mrs. Touzuku stopped twisting her hands around, and they exchanged nods. The social worker opened up some file she had in a binder with her and presented it to the Touzukus. More nodding. Marik tried to hear what they were saying, but they spoke in hushed whispers. He couldn't hear them anymore than they had heard him.

When the social worker turned to leave, Marik followed her, figuring he'd have to go with her, but Mrs. Touzuku stopped him.

"You're staying here for now." She said to him. So that was what they'd discussed, Marik realized. Until some other poor family was willing to take him, he would stay here.

He opened his mouth to say something- a thank you, maybe- but the words got caught in his throat and instead he just smiled. Mrs. Touzuku looked like she understood.

Marik spent the next week just hanging out with the twins. The trio would play video games- to which they received a noise complaint, as Marik and Bakura started arguing loudly about what strategy was better- watch movies- Marik and Bakura bitching the whole time about who chose what movie and why it was a bad choice- and sometimes just talking. It was almost enough to distract Marik from the havoc of his life. At school, anyone who stared for too long, or whispered about him, found themselves on the receiving end of one of Bakura's trademark death glares. It was sort of bittersweet; his life was somewhat peaceful, but he knew it would have to end soon.

On Sunday, Marik was summoned by the Touzukus to 'talk.' He was sure his time was finally up. The social worker- damn her- and Mr. and Mrs. Touzuku were sitting at the table, and they gestured for Marik to sit. So he did. He braced himself for what was coming.

Instead, he felt as if he was living the ending of _Matilda_. Slightly different, sure, but no less sudden and unexpected. Marik barely registered what was happening as the social worker passed different paperwork by him. She was talking about something, but he wasn't listening.

It didn't quite settle in until after the social worker had left; he wasn't leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Yaatak darba fi 'albak_ \- essentially the same as "Drop dead." Literally translate to something like "I hope your heart gets hit."


	5. I Don't Know, Man I Think I'm Starting to Feel Something Peculiar. Something That's Either Aggression or It's Got All Possession of My Mind. I'm So Weak.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Si vis pacem para bellum-_ if you want peace, prepare for war(Latin proverb)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is unintentionally short (like, 600 words short. Yikes.) but you know when you hit that perfect line? The line that's just meant to end that chapter? That's what happened.
> 
> finally, finally, getting to what I know very personally, the wonderful world of dissociating ((((((: 
> 
> also, yes, the title is long as hell, but damn does it fit.

Despite the happenings, the twins never took to calling Marik their 'brother.' Sure, he _technically_ was now the adopted son of their parents, but it never stuck. Mr. and Mrs. Touzuku were still just that; not mom nor dad. And they never expected him to consider them that way.

Marik still flinched whenever anyone raised their voice, or reached for him a little bit to swiftly. He'd accepted the role of a jumpy forest animal; ready to bolt as soon as anyone got too close. It kept him safe. Since his only close friends were the twins, they had learned how to deal with Marik's instinctive jumpy-ness. He hardly ever needed to flee.

Except, when he _did_ retreat, he fell back far into his mind. So much so, he found himself losing time when he retreated. He was aware that he was conscious, but he also wasn't aware. It was impossible to describe and still sound sane, so he didn't even attempt to explain. He just let it be. It became routine eventually. Slip out, lose some time while doing mundane everyday things, slip back in- that part was a bit painful- and keep going on with life. Wash, rinse, repeat.

That all got a bit complicated when Bakura started to notice when Marik wasn't all there. Whenever he caught Marik spaced out, he'd grab his arm and say his name. This would cause Marik to smack back into reality a lot sooner and quicker than normal. And that hurt like _hell_. A heavy pain that settled in his chest and caused a headache. He often found himself mutter some Arabic swear under his breath when it happened. This only served to fuel Bakura's worry. Despite Bakura's protests and insistence, Marik simply let it be. It worked.

Well, it worked until it didn't. Without knowing nor understanding what he was doing, he found himself turning violent when he slipped out. It was as if a whole different, angrier, version of himself took over. In some way, Marik knew this was because he never dealt with the flashbacks, the scars, and any negative emotion pertaining to his father. Subconsciously he shoved all of these problems down, where no one- not even himself- could see them. Except now, here they were, manifested in their own sense of self, taking out the negative emotions they were born out of.

More than once, Bakura had tried to talk to him while he wasn't quite himself, and ended up getting punched, or slapped, or some other form of violence. Marik felt as if he was watching a movie through his own eyes. He wasn't quite in control. He hated it, and himself for letting it happen. It didn't happen all that often; once a week maybe.

The line was drawn when Marik had lashed out at Ryou. Ryou was behind Marik in the hallway, running up to try and catch up to him. He'd asked if Marik was okay. Marik had spun on his heel and smacked Ryou right across the cheek. Ryou certainly wasn't helpless- he'd taken up some of his brother's knowledge of self defense- but he was harmless. And, he had a ever so slightly older, and much less harmless, brother.

Unlike when Marik lashed out at Bakura or someone else, the outbreak of emotions didn't snap him back into himself. Instead, he stayed stuck in the worst movie of his life, and there were no fire exits. From within himself, he tried to fight all his anger, but there was no success to be found. He couldn't break through it.

After all, how do you kill a monster, when you are one?


	6. Prescribe Me All the Pills You Say Will Help Forget the Mistakes I've Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _Nosce te ipsum, tuam sequere naturam da sibi ipse maximum bonum_ "- know thyself, be thyself, love thyself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for slightly late update here, I'm working on a lot of things atm and I wanted to make sure I started making these chapters at least 1k each, cos 600 just doesn't cut it lbr.
> 
> anyway, yes i totally am projecting all my mental problems onto marik but it works okay
> 
> ALSO HOLY HELL 100 HITS :0!! I know hits just mean someone clicked on the story, not necessarily liking it, but still, I thrive off attention, whether it's good or bad, so thanks y'all!

It wasn't until Bakura interfered and restrained Marik that he was able to regain control of himself. He collapsed into Bakura's arms, feeling exhausted by all the effort put into gaining control.

"Marik, what the _hell_?"

"I... I don't know." Marik could feel the backs of his eyes burning and he blinked back tears. He was all too aware of the fact that they were still standing in the school hallway, and although most people had left at this point, there were still some stragglers. He clung onto Bakura like his life depended on it; his legs were shaking and he wasn't sure they could hold himself up.

 

"Dissociative identity disorder." The psychologist said in that clipped, medical tone all doctors seemed to have. Marik wondered bitterly if they taught them that in medical school. "It seems as a result of the... trauma you went through, you've developed a," the psychologist gestured with his hand vaguely, "separate personality. This 'other you' deals with trauma that you won't." Marik bit his lip and rolled it between his teeth. He nervously bounced his leg and looked around the office. "Pair that up with borderline personality disorder, causing your emotions to go haywire, the impulsivity, and a distorted version of black and white thinking. Most likely, this is also feeding into abandonment issue from your father and sister." The psych looked at Marik as if he expected Marik to say something at that point. Marik just stared at the ground, feeling a strong hatred for the psych. For making him spill his guts out on the neat desk which the psych sat behind. For asking so many damned questions. For looking at Marik like he was some kind of mystery to be solved. For laying out everything wrong with Marik on the table right next to where he'd spilled his guts. The psych cleared his throat before continuing, "You should go get your parent or guardian to discuss medication, since you are a minor." Marik begrudgingly obliged. He walked out into the cold waiting room, where Mrs. Touzuku had politely agreed to wait.

"Oh!" She jumped up when she saw Marik.

"The, uh, psych wants to talk to you..." He couldn't make eye contact with her, instead he had a staring contest with the patterns on the carpet. She followed him back into the office and sat down in one of the chairs. Marik plopped down into the other. He zoned out as the psych relayed everything that was wrong with Marik. Mrs. Touzuku nodded when it was appropriate to nod, said okay when she was meant to speak.

"Zoloft is commonly prescribed for anxiety, but since BPD and DID share many symptoms with anxiety, it's shown to help with those as well. Wellbutrin is a common anti-depressant. Those, combined with some counseling and time should do him some good."

 

The 'other him' became a regular part of his life. He managed to keep the other him crammed in the back of their mind, where he couldn't take over and hurt anyone. But just because he couldn't control their body, didn't mean he disappeared. He was always there in the background of Marik's thoughts, telling him to say or do things. Marik was almost always fighting with him within their head.

A pair a fingers snapped in front of Marik's face. "Mr. Ishtar. I'd appreciate if you paid attention during class." The teacher said sternly.

"Sorry, ma'am." He mumbled, trying to shove the other's thoughts away and stop arguing with himself. The point was moot, though, as the bell rang for the next class anyway. Marik tried to scurry out of the class ahead of Bakura to avoid questions, but Bakura caught up to him.

"Hey, you okay?" Bakura asked.

Marik heard the other voice telling him to yell at Bakura to mind his own business, but he dismissed it. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You seem really out of it today..."

"Tired, I guess."

"Listen, I know you probably don't wanna tell me what happened yesterday, but don't lie to me." Bakura said, almost sounding sad at the end.

"Sorry. You're right, I don't wanna tell you anything." Marik said sharply, accenting the words with a glare. He had meant initially for the words to hurt, he wanted them to. But then Bakura's face fell- for only a split second, but nonetheless- and Marik wanted to scoop those words back up into his brain and rearrange them into something nicer. But he couldn't take back what had already been said.

At the lunch table, a hard silence remained upon the trio. Ryou could tell something was wrong between his brother and Marik by the way they situated themselves at the table. Marik sat on one side of Ryou- but with a good distance from him- and Bakura sat on the other.

Ryou wanted to ask what was wrong, but had the sense to know that would probably only worsen the situation. Whatever the situation was. He'd easily gotten past Marik's outburst a few days ago, but maybe Bakura was still upset? It seemed a bit too ridiculous for them to be putting this much awkward distance between each other over just that. Against his better judgement, Ryou decided it'd be easier to fix this if he just knew what was broken. It doesn't do any good to keep tightening one bolt, when another is missing completely.

"Okay, what's wrong." Ryou said in a no-nonsense tone of voice.

"Nothing." Marik had gotten rather good at saying this convincingly, but Ryou was not fooled.

"Marik." Ryou said, in a way that was a demand, not simply a name. Marik didn't respond, simply looked away from Ryou's stern gaze. Ryou shifted that gaze from Marik, who clearly wasn't going to answer his question, to his twin. "Bakura?" This time a bit more of a question; as if asking Bakura if he had any idea what was going on, though Ryou knew he did. Bakura immediately stuffed his face with his lunch and pretended that he had some semblance of manners and would never talk with his mouth full. Ryou sighed, defeated by the other two boys' stubbornness.

"If you won't talk to me, talk to each other." Ryou insisted, gesturing between them.

"There's nothing to talk about." Bakura said coldly. Marik felt every word of that cut into him a little bit. He shrunk down into the table a little bit more. Ryou felt like he was talking to a brick wall. No, not a brick wall, even walls aren't this stubborn. It felt more like trying to talk to a Trump supporter.

"Bullshit."

This immediately got the attention of the two boys on either side of Ryou. Ryou didn't swear often, and when he did it was always calculated and sounded so much harsher than when someone else swore. Maybe it was because both Marik and Bakura swore like sailors in day to day life, so it was almost the norm for them.

"If there isn't anything wrong, why aren't you two talking?" Ryou asked. To which he was responded to with silence on either side of him. "Exactly." He stated, point only further proven by the continued silence.

Ryou sat silent, too, letting his words sink in. The silence settled in to; almost taking on physical form weighing down on them. Before Ryou could attempt to lift this silence, the bell beat him to it.

Marik briefly thought of the saying ' _saved by the bell_ ', though he'd never considered it so literally before now. He stood quickly and sharply, lifted his tray- which still had most of his lunch abandoned upon it- and hurried away, pitching the food and returning the tray before escaping the cafeteria. Bakura had remained motionless at the table, as did Ryou.

"Now will you talk to me, at least?"

"Marik's an ass." Bakura bit out his words as he stood and took his tray, and Ryou followed.

"What else is new?" Ryou asked bitterly. Bakura laughed, but there was no humor in the sound.

"He... I don't know, he's pushing me away, I guess?" Bakura tried to say it like he was sure of what he was saying, but it came off as a question. He turned and started toward the door to the cafeteria. Ryou followed him, determined to get more out of his twin before they went separate directions for their next classes.

"Can you explain?"

"I dunno, he was spacing out in class, he tried to avoid me on the way out, and he snapped at me when I asked if he was okay." Bakura hashed out the events in an almost emotionless tone, but Ryou could pick up on his twin's emotions probably better than Bakura could. It was obvious how hurt he was. Ryou stored this information away in his mind as their time ran out, and they had to head down different hallways. Ryou had it settled in his mind that he had to fix this. It was obvious both his twin and his friend were hurting over this, and his parental instincts kicked in, and he had to protect them.

Thusly, Ryou started plotting exactly how he was going to fix this.


	7. For Diamonds Do Appear to Be Just Like Broken Glass to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Amantium irae amoris integratio est_ \- the quarrels of lovers are the renewal of love. (Terence- Andria III 6, 556)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, I sort of went back and looked at some of my old writing from when I first started posting (on fanfiction.net no less) back in 2011 and as embarrassing it is for any writer/artist/creator to look back where they started, it's also very encouraging. I've improved _so much_ like, writing the last couple of chapters I've posted, I felt like some kind of poet. And I fucking hate poetry, but I'll be damned if studying poetry didn't improve my writing vastly. 
> 
> no one tell my English teacher I just admitted that. she doesn't need the ego boost.
> 
> ANYWAY prepare for EMOTIONS(tm)

_Click._

The door separating the shared bedroom from the hallway- and freedom- sounded off as its tumblers were set; locked. Ryou stood on the side from where the door had been locked, while the trapped victims, Marik and Bakura, were dumbstruck.

They had managed to avoid eye contact the entire day, even at home. Marik sat down on the small trundle-bed that had since became his bed, and immediately busied himself with homework. Never mind the fact that he'd already finished his homework, and he was just doodling and retracing his answers. Bakura sat at the desk of his side of the room, opposite from Marik, and busied himself with his phone. His own homework was long forgotten and blank.

Ryou had been also doing his homework at his desk, but once he finished, he set his plan into motion. Neither of the other two in the room noticed when Ryou got up and left the room. They did notice when he shut and locked the door on them.

"Ryou, what the hell?" Bakura shot up and tried to turn the knob, but was met with resistance.

"You will be let out when you guys talk." Ryou said defiantly. He was honestly a little bit surprised it had worked- at least so far.

"Fuck you." Bakura's insult barely sounded through the door.

Marik couldn't hold back a cynical laugh, "This is the most fucked up game of seven minutes in heaven ever." Bakura snorted, and flopped down on his bed, crossed his legs and faced away from Marik. Marik came to the realization that the ball was in his court; he'd been wanting to apologize, but his pride combined with Bakura's stubbornness left no room for apologies.

He tried to pull together the words, but he couldn't seem to string sentences together. In the corner of his mind, he could hear his own voice telling him he had nothing to apologize for.

 _You're being ridiculous. You don't need him. You don't need to apologize._ Marik grappled these words, wrestled down the thoughts. He shoved his pride down his throat and tried to get over his own resistance.

"I'msorry." He squeezed it out as quickly as he could, before he could take it back. It reminded him of the one time in his language studies class, they'd messed around with a speech jammer. If you spoke quick enough, and loud enough, you could get through it without stuttering or butchered the words. Of course, after having their fun, the teacher had droned on and on about the science behind it and linguistic technicalities.

Bakura's gaze shot up to him. For a few moments, his gaze was completely unreadable. It looked like he was trying to figure out by looking at Marik if he was being honest or not. Or maybe, Marik had spoken too quickly, and he wasn't able to make out what he'd said. The thought of having to repeat himself made Marik want to puke. Everything in his mind was screaming; he could almost feel his pride crawling back up his throat, dejected and even angrier than before.

"S'alright." Bakura mumbled. Quiet, but not rushed. He looked down at his hands, fidgeting, "I just... you I care, right?" Bakura looked at Marik with a very serious expression. Marik's brows furrowed. Thinking about it, no, he didn't know that. Bakura had always carried an air of indifference everywhere, and Marik was already scared that no one cared for him, even Ryou, who was more than affectionate and motherly. "Don't answer that, I guess." Bakura turned away again. "I just figured... you trusted me..." His voice twinged upwards slightly, as if it was a question, "I don't want you to push me away." The last sentence was practically nothing. A breath, if one wasn't listening they could easily mistake it for a sigh, not a sentence. But Marik was listening, and even though Bakura wasn't looking at him, his eyes were locked on Bakura. Marik had to reply the sound back to himself a few times, and try to match words with lip-reading before he understood.

He opened his mouth to respond, but he had no idea what to say. He didn't intentionally push Bakura away, so how was he supposed to fix it?

 _Don't bother. Not worth it._ The thought, whilst tempting, was still wrong. And Marik knew that. But he couldn't come up with a response. If this were some kind of formal debate, this would be his cue to give his rebuttal. But his mind came up blank, and he could feel himself losing this debate.

"I..." Marik started, feeling that damned pride crawling around in his chest, constricting his lungs and making it hard to speak without choking. "I don't want to push you away." He could feel Bakura's eyes on him, but he wasn't looking. He rubbed his face with his hands, battling with his words. "It's gonna take me awhile 'fore I can explain... what's wrong, I guess." He shrugged, trying to force a slight laugh to reduce tension. "Long story short: I'm a fucking mess. And I'm sorry."

In all of its ridiculousness, he found himself laughing. Maybe at himself, maybe at the situation, but nonetheless. Bakura looked at him like he was crazy, and maybe he was, but eventually the laughter reached him to, and they were both laughing.

Two stupid fools, laughing in a se aril where no sane person would laugh. But maybe that's why they got along so well. Maybe they were two nut jobs in a sea of normal people who were able to find each other, and enjoy a laugh.

Ryou sat with a book, leaning against the wall next to the door he'd locked a good while ago. He couldn't really hear anything, so he wasn't sure if those idiots had gotten over themselves and talked. But before he heard words, he heard laughter.

They were insane, Ryou knew this for sure, but at least they were insane together.


	8. Beautiful Scars On Critical Veins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Per angusta ad augusta_ \- through difficulties to honors (Latin proverb)

Things were staring to get better, it seemed.

That was, until Ishizu called. It wasn't that Marik didn't want to hear from his sister, in fact, he missed her dearly. But hearing her voice felt like a ghost from a past life rearing itself back into his head. The news she brought wasn't anymore pleasant.

"You need to testify against him. My word isn't enough; he never hurt me like he did you..." He could almost hear her fidgeting, trying not to cry over the phone. "I understand if you don't want to, but-"

"I'll do it." Marik sputtered out. He didn't want to, but he felt a surge of anger at the thought of his father, and he couldn't stop the spill of angry words.

"Marik, are you sure?"

No. "Yes."

 

"Mr. Ishtar, put your left hand on the bible here, hold up your right. Do you solemnly swear that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

Marik didn't believe in the same gods this person was referring to, but he spoke anyway, "Yes." He was then led up to the stand, where he sat fidgeting.

"Mr. Ishtar, or Marik, may I call you Marik?" The defense attorney spoke as if he was an old family friend. Marik hated it.

"No."

"Alright." He looked away for a second, as if rewriting his plan, "Can you recall for us some of what my client allegedly did, for the court?"

Marik felt spitting on the man we was pacing in front of him, asking him clearly biased questions. He figured the best alternative to spitting, was to say exactly what this attorney didn't want: the truth.

"He'd throw bottles at us- me and my sister Ishizu- he, um, held me in a chokehold for so long, I was sure he was going to kill me." Marik felt his lungs constrict with every word, and he could almost feel his father's hands holding his throat. He fought the urge to cough and sputter as he did when he was able to breathe again after that incident. Marik shifted in his seat, attempting to indicate that's all he had to say.

"Mm, now, aside from your word, do you have any physical proof of this?"

He didn't. His bruises had since faded back into his tanned skin. But bruises weren't the only marks he had to bear; he could feel his back burning against the seat. "I do." He said quietly.

"Would you care to present this 'evidence?'"

No. "It's, um, I have... scars. On my back." His back would've felt cooler if someone had set it on fire. He caught Ishizu's eyes from the crowd, and he could see she knew what he was talking about.

"Well? Show us this 'evidence.'"

Marik twitched uncomfortably, and then moved to remove the fancy suit jacket he'd been forced to wear. Some kind of courtroom etiquette or some bullshit like that. After he'd shucked the jacket, the attorney instructed him to step out of the witness booth, so he did. He slid his white t-shirt, which was the most causal part of this get-up, and turned around so his back was facing the crowd.

He wanted to puke. He never wanted anyone to see his mutilated back, and now he was essentially forced to show the whole courtroom. He could hear a few gasps, whispers, and murmurs. He pulled his long blonde locks over his shoulder to reveal more.

His father had carved hieroglyphics into his skin. Punishment, he'd said, for killing his mother. Except Marik was too young at the time to understand; he can still remember thinking to himself 'but I've never even seen mother'. He'd never given any explanation as to what the marks meant, but he had been so intricate and cut so deeply, they had to mean something.

After a second that lasted a lifetime, Marik turned back around and pulled his shirt back on and silently walked back to the stand. He left the suit jacket resting on the back of the chair instead of putting it back on. He gauged the attorney's reaction. Though his face was stony, it was clear the attorney was out of questions.

The prosecution cross-examined him, but most of what the prosecutor asked were just accusations against his father that Marik had to verbally confirm for their case.

"Your father gave you those... markings?" Yes. "And you endured repeated abuse at his hands?" Yes. "Was this only when he was drunk, or also when he was sober?" He wasn't ever not drunk.

The evidence and testimonies was damning, and the jury didn't look past that. The whole trial had taken about a week, and on the last day, the jury passed judgement.

"On the two counts of child neglect?"

"We, the jury, find the defendant, guilty."

"On the count of physical abuse?"

"Guilty."

"And on the two counts of emotional abuse?"

"Guilty."

His father was sentenced to 15 years in prison. Just one year shy of what he sentenced Marik to. In Marik's mind, no amount of prison time would make up for who his father was, or what he'd done.

No amount of so-called 'justice' could ever take the scars from his body.

 

Walking out of the courtroom felt like stepping straight into the deep end of a pool. Cameras, journalists, microphones shoved into his face. He'd seen enough of televised trials to know to keep his head down and not comment. He didn't want his face plastered across all the local news stations, and he didn't want his words to be taken and twisted.

People were shouting, and lights kept flashing and Marik just tried to tuck down into himself and push his way through the chaos. He felt Ishizu's hand land comfortingly on his shoulder as she followed suit. A handful of professionals created a sort of circle around them, blocking them off from the local press.

Falling down onto his trundle-bed at the end of the day had never felt so much like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> id like to thank law & order and how to get away with murder. Also Google, for never judging me even when I asked weird questions like 'how do they swear you in in court?' and lyrics because I can never make them out in songs.


	9. A Pretty Picture But the Scenery is So Loud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _curae leves loquuntur ingentes stupent-_ slight grief speaks, great ones are speechless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this piece of shit has been distracting me from all my other projects... I have two other writing projects I'm currently working on and two more on the side waiting to be started and I'm working on a wreck this journal and here I am, updating this story, again. 
> 
> i am going to back to school very soon (I'm going to be a junior in highschool) so in all my bitterness, I wanted to write about summer.
> 
> ALSO I made the executive decision as the Author(tm) to use the name Anzu instead of Teá. The name Teá just annoys me tbh

"You okay?"

Marik collapsed into Bakura's arms as soon as he offered them. "No." Instead of asking any more questions, Bakura just tightened the embrace. He'd never told anyone about the scars on his back, the only person who ever knew was Ishizu because she'd been the one who bandaged him up in the aftermath. He felt like he might as well have stood stark naked in that courtroom.

"It's over." Bakura mumbled in an attempt to comfort Marik. But it wasn't, not yet. The local news was going to be buzzing with this story. _His_ story. School was going to even worse. Everyone knew his secrets now, there was no 'he said, she said' about it. Marik said. He'd laid it all out there.

In one swift, sudden motion, Bakura swooped up Marik's legs and started to carry him, bridal-style. Marik squeaked as he felt his feet going out from under his weight. He glared at Bakura, who simply smirked back. Marik knew Bakura was just trying to distract him, and it was working. He carried Marik to his trundle-bed and flopped him down on it.

For a split second, Bakura face was mere centimeters from Marik's, and Marik felt breathless. But before he could even register the closeness, Bakura was standing back up.

"You should get some rest." He advised.

"You almost sound like Ryou." Marik joked.

"Piss off."

"Ah, there's Bakura."

"Rest, asshat." Bakura said, flinging a pillow in Marik's direction. After getting over a quick bout of laughter at the word ' _asshat'_ , Marik found that he was pretty tired, and passed out relatively quick.

 

Going back to school after everything that had happened was not as terrible as Marik had expected. At first, the people who Marik talked to in class- those who weren't Bakura and Ryou- had danced around him a bit, but soon everything settled. Before he knew it, it was the last day of his sophomore year. Well, last day aside from the dreaded exam week.

At this point, the teachers had all but given up trying to tame the restless students, and most of his classes dissolved into chaos. The entire school seemed to fall into a state of mayhem.

Marik was sitting backwards in his desk facing Bakura, and Ryou sat on the side of them.

"I'm more than ready for this," Bakura made a wide, vague gesture around the classroom, "to be over." Ryou snorted.

"Like you ever did any of the work anyway." Marik pointed out. Bakura shrugged while nodding, as if say 'yeah, true, you got me there.'

When Anzu approached the trio, it almost felt like deja vu.

"I know you guys weren't able to make it last time, but I'm hosting an end-of-the-year party, and the whole sophomore class is invited. We're celebrating that we're finally upperclassmen." Ryou and Marik laughed slightly at that. There was a sort of hierarchy between upper and lowerclassmen. "Do you think you three could make it? This Saturday, my house."

Ryou shrugged casually, "Sure, but I don't know your address, Anzu."

"Oh, don't worry," Anzu laughed, "Marik knows it still, right?"

Marik tried to ignore the looks he was getting from the twins, "Yeah, I do."

"Hope to see you guys there!"

Once she was out of earshot, Bakura turned to Marik, "How the hell do you know her address?" Marik felt his face heat up.

"Awhile ago, like grade school I think, I was part of their little," Marik made a circular movement with his hand, "ritualistic circle."

"You're kidding." Bakura deadpanned, clearly hoping Marik would confirm that he was joking. Marik just shrugged. "You," Bakura poked a sharp finger into Marik's chest, "were friends with _them?_ "

"Is it really that far-fetched that I could be a part of the 'cool kids'?" Marik accented the words ' _cool kids_ ' with air quotes.

"Well..." Bakura teased. "You're obviously not anymore."

"By my own choice." Marik shot back defensively. He then shrugged, "They started to notice that I never invited them over to my house. Everyone had seen everyone's houses, except for mine. I mean, logically, I could've talked my way out of it, but I was like, twelve, and I just decided to get the hell outta dodge."

"And you still remember all their addresses?"

"Nah, just Anzu. She has like, a massive house, and she hosted most of our satanic rituals."

"So _that's_ what girls get up to at sleepovers." Bakura said, as if he'd just found the answer to all of his questions in life. Marik chuckled.

"Yep, summon Satan, paint his nails and talk about boys." Marik pitched his voice up to put on a faux girl voice.

"Satan's gay?"

"Don't all gay people go to hell?"

"True." The trio collapsed into laughter.

 

"C'mon, Bakura, we said we'd go!" Marik threw a shoe at Bakura across the room.

"I didn't think you were serious." He groaned, though he was getting ready anyway.

"It'll be fun. I'll bet almost everyone from our grade will be there."

"That's the opposite of fun."

"Recluse."

"And proud."

Ryou walked into the room, "Are you two done arguing and ready to go yet?" Marik nodded, but Bakura just groaned.

Since Ryou was the only one responsible enough to be trusted, he got to drive them. Marik sat in the passenger seat- much to Bakura's dismay.

"I don't wanna sit in the back like a fuckin' child."

"But, 'Kuuura, I need to sit up front to help navigate."

And so Bakura ended up sitting in the back seat of the car like a child. He lived up to his new age by pouting the whole way there. Marik could see he was pouting, but ignored him and directed Ryou instead. It almost looked as if Ryou and Marik were the parents and Bakura was their fed-up five-year-old.

When they arrived, Anzu answered the door with a bubbly expression and a cup of suspicious liquid. "Hey! Come on in." She stepped out of the doorway to allow them in. "Bathroom's over there," she pointed to a door, "Drinks, food and whatnot are over there." She pointed to a table that seemed to be the kitchen table which was covered in various cans of soda, a million and one flavors of chips, and- hidden amidst the soft drinks- alcohol. Anzu disappeared into the fray.

"There must be like three hundred people here, jeeeeez." Marik commented.

"So like, three-fourths of our entire grade."

It was easy to get lost a bit, Marik realized as a few moments later, he'd been swept away from the twins and into the crowd. He bounced around from person to person more or less just talking about the same thing.

_I can't believe sophomore year is over!_

_Yeah, it's crazy._

Luckily, he knew almost everyone's first names at the very least, and if he didn't, he managed to avoid needing to say their name.

Eventually he found his way over to the food and drinks. He then embarked on the difficult choice of soda flavors. After some deliberation, he decided to try Vanilla Coke, since he'd never had it before. He stood by the table for a bit, and then he noticed Bakura coming up to the table.

"Hey, Bakura." Marik tried to greet his friend nicely, but all he got in response was a grunt. Bakura started sifting through the drink options until he apparently found what he wanted.

"A can of beer. Classy." Marik mocked his choice.

"If I'm gonna have to be here," he waved around the hand holding the can, "the only way I'm getting through this is drunk."

When he cracked the can open, Marik could smell the disgusting aroma of beer. He could almost see the polished appearance of Anzu's house melt away into the mess that was his old house. Nothing but the smell of beer and cigarettes. Everything in his head was screaming to get away. He could hear his heart pounding in his head.

Reclaiming some of his sense, he remembered where Anzu had said the bathroom was, and ran towards it as fast as he could through the crowds. He shut and locked the door as soon as he was in and inhaled a deep breath of the clean, plug-in air-freshener air. He looked in the mirror and saw a much paler, much more tired version of himself looking back at him.

He found himself staring; not in a conceited way, but rather curious. He touched his hands to his cheeks and forehead just to confirm for himself he was real and this image was him. It was, of course, but he needed to double-check anyway.

He drank some water and tried to silence the pounding in his head. He gave himself another once over in the mirror to make sure he'd regained some of his color in his skin and didn't look ill anymore. And with that, he exited the safety of the bathroom.

The loud music hit him like a wall, and so did the heat, and smell. He wondered if he could convince Ryou to take them home sooner than planned. He knew Bakura wouldn't complain, he didn't want to be here in the first place.

Everything was just _too much_. Too loud, too hot, too cramped. The air felt like it was pressing down on his chest, constricting his lungs. He frantically searched for Ryou.

"Oh, hey, Marik!" Ryou greeted cheerfully. Then, he looked Marik up and down and the parental instincts kicked in. "We should go, don't you think?" Ryou suggested, clearly worried about him. Marik could only nod. He was afraid of he spoke, if he added to the noise, his eardrums would explode.

It didn't take that long to find Bakura, who was a little bit tipsy, but held himself together alright. He was more than happy to be leaving early, though the circumstance wasn't the best.

When Marik let Bakura have the passenger seat with no argument, Bakura knew something was wrong, and that's why they'd left so early. In truth, Marik let him have shotgun because he didn't want to even run the risk of having another little spat. Too loud, too stressful. Instead, he chose to skip the risk and curl up in the back.

Now, the twins in the front seemed to be the parents who were looking with major concern at their child in the backseat. Marik didn't say another word for the rest of the night, instead choosing to just sleep.


	10. Picked All My Weeds, But Kept the Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ad infinitum_ \- to infinity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like ten chapters is some kind of milestone. here we are folks, ten whole chapters. I start school tomorrow so I wanted to get something out before school so I can take a bit of a break to adjust. This is short and plotless because I'm too stressed to think properly.

Marik slumped over the table, letting his head hit rather painfully against the wood. He groaned, but less because of pain and more because of exam week. It was over, though. Bakura groaned as a response. For a few seconds, the two had a very meaningful conversation consisting only of pained groans. Ryou laughed loudly as he approached them.

"Ready to go?" Ryou said, twirling the car keys around his hand.

"Yes, please." Marik answered. Bakura nodded in agreement.

And with that, summer had started.

 

Marik had never enjoyed summer. All it meant for him was three months with no break from his father. However, from the moment he stepped out of the school, he knew this summer was different. He wasn't going home to the wreckage that was his old house, he was going home to the neat, safety of the Touzuku residence.

After about a week of all three of them never leaving the house, Ryou decided to drag the kids out to get ice cream.

Bakura had complained, as he was wont to do, "Really, Ry? Doesn't that seem a bit juvenile?"

"It's _summer_ , Bakura. I'm getting you out of the house even if I have to drag you."

So they went.

The little local ice cream shop had no indoor seating and looked about as old and pathetic as it was. But, it was a popular spot in town for ice cream. The window slid open to reveal a tired looking teenaged girl.

"What can I get ya?" She said, as if she'd said that same phrase so many time she'd forgotten the meaning.

"Small vanilla, large black cherry," Ryou turned to Marik, who was pouring over his options like it was harder than his exams. "Marik?"

"Uhh... small mint chocolate chip..." He spoke as if it was a question.

"That all for ya?"

"Yes, thank you." 

They paid and then stepped out of the line to wait. A few minutes later, the window slid back open.

"I got a small vanilla?" The worker said, holding out the ice cream.

"That's mine." Ryou said and approached the window to retrieve his ice cream. When he returned to the group, his eyes seemed to brag about getting his first.

"Large black cherry and small mint chocolate chip?" A different worker called out to crowd of people waiting for their ice cream. Bakura and Marik retrieved their treats.

They sat down at a picnic table of sorts. Ryou was already almost finished with his and Bakura- despite his earlier complaints- was digging into his. Marik, however, was watching his, skeptically. He twirled it around in his hand and observed.

"Do you not like it, Marik?"

"I've never had ice cream before." He confessed. The twins looked at him, shocked. "My dad never took us out for ice cream or anything, and we didn't have the money to spare anyway." He tried to shrug as if it wasn't a pathetic story.

"Well, try it." Bakura nudged him with his elbow. Marik obliged, cautiously reaching out with his tongue to the cold ice cream.

It was odd at first. It chilled his tongue and then the month flavor hit. At first it tasted like frozen toothpaste- not entirely unpleasant, but not the desert treat he'd expected- but then he bit down on a chocolate chip and the two flavors mixed together perfectly. He couldn't hold back a pleased noise.

"Mmmmm, oh my gods," Marik muttered, seemingly to his ice cream.

"Good?" Bakura teased. Marik's only response was another pleased moan.

"Turns out ice cream _was_ a good choice." Ryou said pointedly at his twin. Bakura waved him off.


	11. Nothing's Real Until You Let Go Completely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _omni praeclara rara_ \- all excellent things are rare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO I AM ALIVE. I HAVE SURVIVED TWO WEEKS OF SCHOOL.
> 
> I've done like absolutely no work on this fic for the last two weeks and instead working on a different story entirely- I've written over 7000 words for it so far.
> 
> also, obx was like, my favorite place to vacation so again, in all my bitterness about school, I wanted to write about it. AND I MANAGED TO FIND THE EXACT RENTAL: http://www.rentabeach.com/1381053 PLEASE GO LOOK AT IT, IT TOOK ME OVER AN HOUR TO FIND IT

Bakura tossed a shirt at Marik's face, "Stuff that in one of the suitcases." He commanded. Marik snorted and did so. They were packing for vacation, which was something Marik had never gone on. As soon as he learned they were going to the beach- the outer-banks, to be exact- he had been ecstatic. Bakura and Ryou's aunt and uncle were also joining them on the trip, to help pay the expenses.

Now, the day had finally arrived. Or at least, almost. Today was the day before they embarked on the trip. Packing, Marik learned, was an incredibly stressful ordeal. Did he pack enough clothes? Bathing suit, socks, underwear, jeans, shirts?

The long trip was hellish, but the payoff was well worth it. The minute Marik stepped barefoot into the warm sand of the beach, he knew it was all worth it just to be here.

Bakura kicked up some sand in his direction, causing Marik to yipe in shock. "Hey!" He responded by flicking some of the ocean water at Bakura. Bakura got back at him by pushing him further into the ocean. Marik squirmed and fluttered in the water, as awkward as a fish on land. When he recovered, he tackled Bakura into the sand. They rolled around, getting sand in all of the most uncomfortable spots, but not noticing- nor caring- at that moment.

Returning back to the rented beach house, Marik immediately reverted to a childish state and ran around the whole house, opening every door and checking every room while also dragging Bakura along by the hand.

"There's so many rooms, I don't think I've seen this many beds in my entire life!" Marik panted as he finished his third lap around the house. "Who the hell needs a house this big? I mean," he twirled around, using his hands to gesture to the living room he was now standing in, "look around!"

He was right, though Bakura was thoroughly over it already. The house had six bedrooms, two of which had at least two twin-sized beds, if not more. There were five bathrooms, a giant kitchen, and two living rooms. The whole layout was spread over three floors, each with their own deck; the ground floor, the second floor, and the attic. The attic room was Marik's favorite. There was a set of bunk beds and then two singular beds on one side of the stairs that led up to the room, and on the other side of the stairs were bean bags and a television.

The best part of the attic room was the view from the deck. The deck was wide but narrow and overlooked the ocean. If he looked down, he could see the pool, and if he looked up, he saw the beach. There were deck chairs scattered about each level of the deck, and for the first night there, Marik sat cross-legged in one of the deck chairs until the sun had completely set and Bakura came out to drag him back inside. Marik flopped down on one of the two twin beds in the attic room, Bakura curled up on the other, and Ryou slept on the top bunk of the bunk bed.

In the morning, Marik bounded out of bed and forced the twins to follow suit. After going down the steps to the smaller of the two living rooms, they found their way to bigger living room and could see all four of the adults sitting on the second level deck drinking coffee and chattering. Ryou led the way and slid open the sliding door to the deck to join the adults.

"Morning, boys." Mrs. Touzuko greeted.

"Morning!" Marik and Ryou said sounding chipper, but Bakura just kind of groaned.

"We thought it'd be fun to head down to one of the marinas and rent some surfboards." Mr. Touzuko informed them. "There's some places that sell lessons."

As it turns out, surfing was insanely difficult. The teacher had them all start on their stomachs, which was easier to balance, but often resulted in face-first collisions with bigger waves. By the time they were all able to stand on the boards, Marik's eyes were burning from salt and his nose still had some water in it. But, once he was able to actually surf, even if only for a few seconds prior to losing his balance, it was like magic. They spent almost the entire day trying, and often failing, to surf for more than ten seconds at a time. Bakura was hailed as godly when he managed thirty seconds.

They ate at a fancy seaside restaurant, to which they had a reservation. The food seemed endless, it was more than Marik had seen in his entire lifetime. Everything here seemed to be in crazy amounts; rooms in the beach house, food, the ocean itself.

When they returned back to the beach house, Marik argued with the twins over who should get to sit in the two bean bags in front of their television. Before the argument got to progress, he stubbornly sat himself in one. Before Bakura could follow his model, Ryou pulled the 'younger twin' card and plopped into the other one.

"Scoot over." Bakura said to Marik, to which he obliged. Bakura eased himself into the bean bag beside Marik. He tried to leave some space between them, but the bean bag had no mercy, and led to both of them sinking into the middle. Marik tried not to notice how warm Bakura's body was as it was forced into his. Tried and failed. After only about fifteen minutes of resting in the bean bags, he had to get up. He made the excuse that he wanted to go out onto the deck and watch the sunset again, when in reality, the feeling of sitting so closely to Bakura was too overwhelming.

He stepped outside and allowed the fresh North Carolinian air to clear his mind. The sun dipped down low across the ocean, sending spirals of color all across the sky.


	12. yikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry

I'm officially discontinuing this story. I know where I want it to go, but I can't bridge the gap in my mind between where the story is and where I want to go. I haven't had any interest in writing this story- rather I've written 13k words on an entirely different story which I'm much more interested in. Sorry again.


End file.
